


Take the Wheel

by triedunture



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Fingerfucking, Ianpala, Impala Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While working a case where inanimate objects are turning into humans, Dean and Sam find the Impala has turned into a cocky bastard of a guy overnight. And he's got quite a mouth on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> Have you heard of Ianpala? It's a meme where clever, wonderful people have mashed up the smolderific Ian Somerhalder as the human Impala and it is basically the best. If you'd rather imagine some other tall, dark, and smoky human playing the role, please do but trust me, this is pretty good times.

Dean slammed his way back into the motel room, his face red with anger. Sam looked up from underneath his towel, still drying his hair.

"Problem?" he asked.

"The car's gone! It was parked right out front and now it's gone!" Dean shouted. "Somebody jacked my fucking baby!"

Sam slung the towel around the back of his neck and grimaced. "Whoa. Calm down, first thing's first, we—"

"We what?" Dean dragged a hand through his hair. "We call the cops and report it? It's got fake plates, Sam! They run them, we get busted."

"Yeah, I know, just—" Sam shrugged into his shirt and stood up from his seat at the edge of his bed. "Let's think this through, okay? Maybe the parking lot has a security camera."

"Shit, if they open the trunk, we are screwed," Dean moaned, palming a hand over his mouth. "Forget these freaky talking houses or whatever the hell is happening in this stupid town. We need to get the Impala back ASAP."

Sam sighed through his nose. "They're not talking houses, Dean, I told you, it's—"

A loud knock echoed through the room. Dean and Sam quieted, their heads whipping in unison to stare at the door. 

"Did you ask Bobby to help with this case?" Dean growled in a low voice. 

"No." Sam swallowed. "Could it be Cas?"

Another knock, louder this time. 

Dean shook his head. "Angels don't knock." He reached for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans. Sam reached under his flattened pillow and retrieved a serrated knife.

The Winchesters positioned themselves on either side of the door, Dean taking point with his hand on the doorknob. He mouthed silently at Sam: _One. Two...._

Dean flung the door open on three, his gun leveled at—

"Hey guys." Some guy, tall and dark with bright blue eyes, held up a greasy paper sack. "Breakfast?"

 

________________________

"You're not a car," Dean said for the tenth time. "You're a _dude_."

The guy looked up from his Styrofoam container of biscuits and gravy, licking his plastic spork as if in deep thought. He sat on the edge of Dean's bed, his long legs canted and relaxed. "I'm a dude now." He looked down at himself, at his body dressed all in black: black boots, black jeans, black tee under a black leather jacket. "But last night, I was a nineteen sixty-seven Chevy Impala that you," he pointed at Dean with his takeout utensil, "knew as Baby."

Dean turned helplessly to his younger brother, his mouth flapping open and closed like he couldn't even formulate the words. 

"Don't ask me," the stranger said with a shrug. "I don't have a clue. One minute I'm a car like I always am, the next I'm all fleshy and human. A really good looking one, I guess, but still."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Dean groaned. 

"Dean, what if he's telling the truth?" Sam said carefully. "An anthropomorphism curse might explain why all these victims claimed to be having conversations with things that, you know, shouldn't talk."

"No. No. No." Dean shook his head, staring down at the newcomer. "Houses don't turn into big angry women and strangle people. Bicycles don't beat up kids in dark alleys. And my baby isn't some—" He gestured vaguely at the man on the bed, who was still eating with relish. "Some—"

Baby swallowed and gestured to the paper sack beside him on the bed. "Are you guys seriously not going to eat any of this?"

"Some fucking nutjob!" Dean finally choked out.

"It's really good. I mean, it's the first thing I've ever eaten but I think it's excellent."

"I'm just saying," Sam said, "it's a theory. We should check it out."

"How?" Dean growled. 

"Easy." Baby wiped his mouth with a tissue-paper napkin. He shrugged his left arm out of his leather jacket, showing off his bare inner arm. Two sets of initials were there, carved into the skin as white scar tissue: S.W. & D.W. "Been there a long time," he said softly, his eyes sweeping up to Dean. "I've known you since before you were born."

"That so?" Dean said, and though he meant it to sound challenging, it came out a little breathless.

Baby nodded. "I remember everything that's happened to us." He tipped his head in thought. "Want me to tell you something only I'd know?"

Dean threw a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder at Sam, who shrugged. "Like what?"

"Like last week outside Wichita," Baby said with a creeping smile. 

"Wichita?" Sam frowned. "Nothing happened in Wichita. Dean dropped me off at the laundromat, we grabbed lunch after, then hit the road. Nothing—"

Dean cleared his throat, loud and long. Sam regarded him with a confused shift of his brows. Baby grinned. "Dean needed some alone time."

It took a few seconds, but Baby could see the moment the idea penetrated Sam's brain. His face dropped into a disgusted scowl. "Oh come on! Dude!"

"What?" Dean groused, his whole posture claiming ignorance even as his face went bright red. 

"I sleep in that car! I _eat_ in that car!" 

"Glass houses, Sam," Baby drawled. "Don't forget Vermont last year." 

"Vermont?" Dean's eyes darted back and forth in thought before he whirled on Sam. "You mean that smell wasn't deer pee!?"

Sam gaped a bit before managing, "Well, you were sleeping off that concussion and I had been driving for like ten hours without stopping, and yeah, maybe the bottle I used sort of...sloshed. A little." 

"You toss the bomb as soon as you finish, Sam! You don't keep bottles of piss in my car!"

"It was the only one I had! I thought I might need it later!"

"You stupid son of a—"

Baby laughed, looking between them like they were the best game of tennis he'd ever seen. "So this means you believe me?"

Dean aimed one last glare at his brother and shrugged. "Guess we have to." He looked down at the bag of food still sitting next to Baby. "Where'd you get the money to buy breakfast, anyway?"

Baby reached into his front jean pocket, levering himself backward to fit his palm into the tight space, and pulled out a fistful of quarters. "You left a lot of change in the cup holder," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay. That's just— Whatever. Let's go, Sam. We need to rent a car and figure out who's cursing these things." 

Baby stood, brushing his hands on his thighs. "Let me come too. I can help."

Dean looked ready to fire off a comment about how much help he'd been already, but Sam stepped in between them before he could. "Thanks, but it could be dangerous. We don't know how far this thing goes."

"Yeah, and there's the little detail that every object that's come to life has attacked its owner," Dean grumbled. 

Baby pursed his lips at that. "You don't really think I'd—?" He huffed a laugh and shook his head. "Dean, I could never hurt you. You're what keeps me going." His eyes bored into Dean's, bright as headlights. "Pretty damn literally." 

If Dean had an answer for that, he kept it to himself, shuffling his booted feet and glancing uncomfortably toward the door. "Stay here. Keep the door locked. Don't do anything weird."

"Like breathe?" Baby smirked.

As Dean and Sam left and locked the door behind them, Sam muttered, "Do you think we should leave him here alone? What if he goes off the rails and comes after us?"

"I don't know," Dean answered in a gruff voice. "I kind of—I believe him when he says he ain't out to get us."

Sam quirked his lips into a thoughtful upside-down U. "Huh. Not like you to trust something paranormal right off the bat."

Dean snorted. "I didn't say I trusted him, I just think if he wanted to gank us, he could have done it already. Now let's get this over with, okay?" They shouldered their packs and struck out in the direction of the local Hertz they'd passed last night. 

________________________

Talking to the neighbors of the deceased revealed a few disturbing facts: for one, it looked like the victims both loved the shit out of the things that had eventually killed them. The strangled lady whose house had disappeared overnight, foundation and all, had been a crazy DIY-er and constant remodeler. The boy who had biked everywhere in town—but whose bike was mysteriously missing from the crime scene—had worked on his Schwinn every weekend, adding funky new bells and whistles with every allowance. And both victims had frequented a hardware store owned by a stooped old woman with a toothy grin. 

"Isn't that the store you stopped at last night on our way into town?" Sam asked Dean once they were safely out of hearing distance of their last witness. 

"Needed some more motor oil." Dean grimaced. "Think that old broad is slipping her customers something extra? A free hex bag with every purchase?"

"Maybe." Sam checked his watch. "It's getting late. The store's closed by now. Want to pack it in for today?" 

"Yeah, let's just hope our new guest kept himself out of trouble," Dean muttered as he guided their rented Honda down the street. 

They came back to the motel to find a complete pigsty of skin mags, empty fifths, burger wrappers, and maps strewn across the floor and every flat surface. Baby sat Indian-style on the floor with his back to the dresser, shirtless, examining the low level of liquid in a vodka bottle. 

"Hey," he said to the two speechless Winchesters as they entered, boots crunching over the trash. "Join the party."

"What the hell is all this?" Dean barked. 

"Figured you'd have me turned back soon enough. Didn't want to miss out on all the human stuff I never get to do." Baby swung his bloodshot eyes up to Dean. "I don't think I can get drunk. I keep trying but it doesn't seem to stick. I just feel a little slow and sad. Is that what it's supposed to feel like?"

"Sometimes. Come on." Sam gripped him by the elbow and helped him gently to his feet. "I think it's time you experienced your first cold shower."

"You never wash me. Only Dean washes me," the dark-haired guy mumbled.

"Nobody's washing anybody! If you can buy an entire liquor store, you can work out how to use a bar of soap," Dean snapped.

Baby made a face in Dean's direction, a haughty tight-lipped scowl. "You only liked me when I couldn't talk back," he said, and shrugged off Sam's hand, slamming into the bathroom alone. 

Sam watched him go, then leveled a look at Dean that was equal parts concern and reproach. 

"Man, who knew the Impala was so messed up?" Dean picked up a plastic wastebasket and began sweeping the trash off his bed. From the bathroom, they could hear the shower squeak on and the water start pounding on the tile. 

"Go easy on him, Dean. I remember how weird it was going from being human to being a semi-aware car—" Sam shivered as he remembered Gabriel's last trick. "—but going from an inanimate object to suddenly having a mind and memories and feelings? That's got to be rough."

Dean straightened, gesturing with an empty mini of whiskey. "What do you want me to do, huh? Pet him and love him and call him Baby?"

"I want you to treat him like a person," Sam said, "because, like it or not, he is one."

Dean ducked his head and went back to picking up the garbage. "Not for long, if I have anything to say about it."

"Yeah. I know." Sam sighed. "All the more reason to show the guy a little kindness. I mean, look at what he's doing." He kicked at the wrappers and bottles at his feet. "He ate crappy food, looked at weird porn, and drank until he couldn't stand it anymore. Sound familiar?"

"Oh come on, I don't—"

"He's emulating you, Dean. You're his blueprint for how humans should act." Sam shrugged. "So try to be a good one." 

The shower cut off with a loud squeal of the faucet, and Dean froze before he could offer a retort. Baby emerged from the bathroom wearing black boxer briefs and holding the rest of his clothes bundled in his arms. His eyes drifted over to Dean, still standing with a wad of garbage in his hand.

"Sorry I trashed the place," Baby said in a quiet rumble. "And maxed out this stolen credit card I found in your bag." He fished the Visa out of his jeans pocket and handed it to Sam, who took it with a harried nod. "Guess I'm still a temperamental bitch," he said with a lop-sided shrug. 

Dean squinted at him. 'Temperamental bitch' was his epithet of choice when the Impala was acting up. It was something he had whispered into Baby's engine block a thousand times. And every time, he'd bring Baby purring back to life. 

He licked his lips and said, "You are, but in a good way. You know?" 

Blue eyes caught his gaze and softened. "I know."

Dean endured a few moments of staring rivaled only by his contests with Castiel. Then Sam cleared his throat and said, "Should probably get some rest now, guys."

Baby looked between the two motel beds, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "I'll take the floor, then."

Sam shot Dean a look that said (and Dean was only translating roughly from Bitchiense): _Dean, if you let your car-turned-person spend his first night as a human sleeping on this shitty motel floor, you officially have no heart and I will judge you harshly until the day you die._

To which Dean responded with a face that he hoped Sam understood meant _Go fuck yourself._

Sam gave his brother a withering stare and said to Baby, "You can share with me, it's not a big deal."

"Oh Sam." Baby looked him up and down. "No offense, but I think we're both pretty big deals nowadays." It was true; Baby was nearly as tall as Sam and just as lanky. Dean cringed trying to imagine them cramming into one bed together. 

Dean swished some air in his mouth from cheek to cheek before letting it out in a rush. "You can bunk with me," he said, rubbing his downcast eyes with his thumb and forefinger. A headache seemed to be forming his behind the sockets. 

Baby's grin was close-lipped but wide. "That's more like it."

________________________

Dean laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Sam's droning snores in the next bed. Baby was a warm shape to his right, radiating heat like the hood of the car did in the summer. The mattress shifted and Dean caught Baby's unearthly stare out of the corner of his eye. 

"You watching me sleep?" he asked. "You're worse than Cas."

"You aren't sleeping," Baby pointed out. "You're thinking. You've slept inside me too many times for me to not know the difference."

Dean blinked a few times. "Okay, that just sounds gross." Baby chuckled, and Dean smiled into the dark.

A long beat of silence, punctuated only by the distant honking of a truck horn on the highway. 

"Can I ask you something?" Dean spoke in a hushed voice. 

"Shoot." Baby propped his head up on his fist, his eyes glued to Dean's profile. 

"How come you're not, like, forty-something years old?"

"Because, Dean," Baby drawled, "you kept me in good condition."

"Damn straight I did." Dean couldn't keep the note of pride out of his voice.

Baby's hand, hot as sun-warmed metal, slid over Dean's wrist, a tentative touch. "Now can I ask you something?" 

Dean turned his head on his flattened pillow to meet Baby's eyes. He swallowed. "Fair's fair."

"Do you really think I'm worse than Castiel?" His voice was a low, teasing promise, like the rumble of the engine in second gear. 

Dean's eyes widened and he licked his lips. He'd been waiting for this shoe to drop. Because if Baby remembered everything, then Baby must know about the thing with Cas. "Listen. Uh. That was—"

"I could've mentioned it to Sam. But I didn't." Baby slid closer, sharing Dean's pillow, their faces inches apart. "I was trying to be tactful, let you keep your little secret." His gaze fell to Dean's mouth. "Of course you couldn't let him die a virgin. The backseat has seen a lot, let me tell you, Dean, but that night—" He breathed out a shocked whoosh of air. "I still get shivers. You know, you come off as all blustery and self-centered, but I know how selfless you can really be."

"It was his last night on earth," Dean bit out.

"And this is probably mine," Baby returned. "Tomorrow you'll figure out a way to break the curse and I'll go back to being what I am: just a thing." His hand slid up Dean's arm, finding its way across his body. "Life is pretty boring as a thing. You get driven around for a few years by some douchebag who doesn't give a shit about you, and then you get bought by this soldier-type and life's a little better, and then you get this _boy_ , this kid who grows into _such_ a man, and he worships you, treats you like the most precious thing in the world." He sighed. "But you're still a thing. You can't think or feel or—" his hand moved across the planes of Dean's bare chest, tracing the sounds of his heartbeat, "—touch." 

"Christ, knock it off," Dean hissed, capturing Baby's fingers in his own hand. He shot a look over at Sam's bed, at his brother's broad back. "Sammy might hear you," he said. Not 'I'm not interested' or 'I don't do dudes,' which, Dean realized belatedly, probably meant something.

The chuckle in Baby's throat was too like an engine idling. "You know as well as I do that when he snores like that, a goddamn earthquake wouldn't wake him." He pressed up against Dean's side, warm and purring, his lips nuzzling against Dean's jaw. "Come on, I'll even let you be the big spoon."

Dean whispered a soft curse into Baby's hair, inhaling his leather-and-motor oil smell. Dean fucking loved that smell. He let his eyes drift closed and brought his arms—which had been frozen in place at his sides—around the other man's narrow waist. "All right, so long as we get one thing straight."

"What's that?" Baby murmured. 

"You ain't a thing." Dean swallowed, staring up at the ceiling. "Not to me. You're—listen, you got to understand—you're _home_."

Baby lifted himself up on one elbow, looking down at Dean in the dark. "Home?" he said quietly. 

Dean's fingers traced an aimless pattern up one pale, smooth flank. "I mean it. Sam laughs at me for it, but I don't give a shit. A car is just four wheels and some pistons that get you from one place to another. You're where I grew up, where I live, what I come back to when I'm finished ganking something. So, yeah. Home."

"Huh." Baby blinked hard several times, his long lashes dark and wet. "That's, uh." He shook his head. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to— I knew it, I did, but to hear you say it—" 

"Oh, shut it, you big girl," Dean growled, and leaned up to kiss him. 

Baby went stock-still for a moment, but he caught on quick, bringing up those big, road-chapped hands to cup Dean's face, kissing back like he'd been waiting for it for decades. And in a way, Dean figured, he had been. They crushed together under the covers, hips aligning in a way that jolted through them both. Baby groaned into Dean's mouth, his eyes opening wide and pupil-blown as their hard cocks rubbed between boxers. 

"Fuck, Dean, can you—?" Baby grabbed Dean's hand in his and guided it down between his legs. "Touch me like you did with the angel."

"Sure, okay, shh, I got you," Dean whispered, working his fingers through the slit in those black boxers, brushing against the velvety skin of the erection there. He licked a messy circle below Baby's ear; his skin tasted of sunshine and metal, and Dean couldn't get enough of it. 

His hand closed around Baby's cock, just holding, feeling the heat and weight of it. A bead of liquid dribbled down the shaft and over the back of Dean's knuckles. "Getting wet?" Dean murmured, staring down the long pale line of Baby's torso. 

"Shit, yes." Baby threw his head back, his neck a perfect white arch that just begged for a nip of Dean's teeth. So it got them. 

"One second." Dean withdrew his hand long enough to yank Baby's boxers all the way off, slipping them off his wriggling feet. Then he found the bottle of water-based he kept in his pack by the side of the bed specifically for alone time. "You know all the stuff I did with Cas? You want that?" Dean asked, squirting a dollop of lube into his cupped palm.

Baby nodded, his dark head moving against the pale pillow. "I do." 

Maybe it should have been weird, recreating that night in the backseat with someone who wasn't Castiel. Dean had thought of the incident as something private between him and Cas, something he had owed the angel. But now, it occurred to him as he circled his slick fingers around Baby's hole, they hadn't been alone that night. It had always been Dean, Cas, and Home. He shivered at the thought.

"I'll go slow, okay?" Dean said in a hushed voice. He dipped the very tip of his middle finger into the hot catch of Baby's body. "Tell me if it sucks, 'cause I've only done this the once."

Baby shoved himself against Dean, chest to chest, legs tangled, Dean's hands captured between them. "Yeah, I know." He heaved a breath and shifted his hips to better accommodate Dean's fingers. "Quit fucking teasing already." 

"Easy, easy," Dean warned softly, working his fingers inside with all the patience Baby lacked. It felt strangely right, him working on Baby, trying not to fight him, getting him where he wanted to be. Surreal aside, Dean couldn't even find it in himself to be disappointed that Baby turned out to be a dude; it was too thrilling to hear him purr, too satisfying to feel his hips buck into Dean's touch. And if his cock was twitching in his own boxers, well, so what.

He fucked Baby with his fingers while jerking him with his other hand. The rest of Dean's body was tasked with trying to keep the damn guy pinned down. He was thrashing like a wild animal, and the bed squeaked the way only a cheap motel bed can. And the _noises_ he made—when Dean's fingers twisted up into him, Baby gave a shout of pleasure, much louder than their previous whispers.

Dean clapped a hand over Baby's open mouth. "Keep your goddamned voice down," he hissed into the shell of his ear. He chanced a look over at Sam's bed, but didn't see any movement. Baby turned onto his side, facing away from Dean, still mewing muffled sounds against his fingers. Dean held him fast against his chest, still working his fingers in his ass. 

"Make me," Baby moaned into Dean's palm. 

Dean did the only thing he could think to do: he shoved three fingers into Baby's hot mouth and snarled, " _Suck_." Baby, for once, did exactly as he was told, whimpering around the fingers while more fingers slid in and out of his ass. His spine went rigid; Dean could feel it against his body. 

"You close?" Dean started grinding his hard dick against the warm curve of Baby's ass. "You want to come?"

Baby nodded furiously, his head tipping back against Dean's shoulder, his bright eyes wild. 

"Come on, Baby, let's go," Dean whispered, keeping his movements deliberate and steady. He felt the orgasm beginning, the spasm in Baby's body, the shocked slackness in his mouth. It was amazing, watching this creature—whatever he was—come apart in his arms. All black hair and pale skin and choked cries: Dean had done that, had made that happen. And that, combined with one last press of his cock against Baby, was enough to bring him over the edge with a low growl. 

Baby didn't mind the stickiness of the come and sweat. He seemed to revel in it, actually, curling up beside Dean and nosing his way under his arm to rest his hot cheek against Dean's chest. He waited long minutes until their panting subsided into quiet puffs of breath, then said, "Dean. Promise me something."

"What's that?" Dean half-gasped. 

"The next time Cas shows up, tell him yes." Baby pressed a kiss to Dean's sternum, a gesture of affirmation.

"Yes? Yes to what?"

Blue eyes gazed at him with reproach. "To the question he always asks when he looks at you." He touched Dean's jaw with the tips of his fingers. "I don't like the idea of you being alone. Bad shit is coming down the pike and I can only protect you so much."

Dean looked down at Baby, his one constant, and wondered what it might be like to have another. He kissed the top of his dark head, inhaling the scent of gasoline and leather. "Don't worry," he said. "Close your eyes. Go to sleep."

________________________

They got up early the next morning, beating Sam to the shower and breakfast. Sam didn't even budge until an Egg McMuffin was tossed at his head. 

"Yo, sleeping beauty," Dean spoke around his mouthful of hash browns, "let's get a move on."

Sam grumbled and Baby smirked, but they finally ended up at the Formica table with their research spread out for examination. 

"I just wish we could figure out _why_ ," Sam said. He took another swig from his carton of OJ and shook his head. "If the anthro-curse made these things go homicidal—"

"Then why isn't Baby here stabbing us in the back?" Dean finished with a nod to said Baby.

For his part, Baby tossed his hair and popped another cinnamon roll nugget into his mouth. "Maybe I'm just too awesome for murder," he drawled.

"Or maybe you don't have a reason to be pissed," Dean suggested with a shrug.

Sam shook his head. "That house and the bike didn't either, from what I can tell. Look at all these repairs Mrs. Sanders made to her home. And all the bling that kid put on his Schwinn," Sam said, tapping his fingernail against the photographic evidence. 

"Well, there's your answer." Baby craned his neck to get a good look at the photos. The corner of his mouth twisted downward. 

Dean frowned. "I don't get it. The vics took share of their stuff; I take care of you." He gestured to the air between them. "What's the difference?"

"The difference is these people tried to _change_ their possessions." Baby turned a picture around for Dean's gaze. "That woman kept building additions. That kid kept sticking on new crap. They weren't allowing their things to—I don't know—stay the way the way they were meant to." Baby indicated his long, lean body with a sweep of his hand. "Every time you restore me, you do it exactly—faithfully—like I looked when I first rolled off the line. And I think it makes a big difference."

Dean caught his blue eyes, and he could see the gratitude there. Something in his chest burned, pride in his work, the knowledge that he'd done the right thing by Baby.

"Wait, are you saying that inanimate objects have souls?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Not exactly, no. But when it was just you and me on the road, Sam, and you stuck that iPod dock in me?" Baby pursed his lips and tipped his head to the side. "I can tell you I didn't like it one fucking bit."

Dean covered his mouth with his hand to better stifle his laugh. The look on Sam's face was priceless. "Sorry," Sam choked out. "I didn't—uh—know."

"So we're thinking these objects come to life," Dean laid out, "and the ones that are pissed at their owners get their revenge? Why would the old lady at the hardware store put a curse on them in the first place?"

"Guess we'll have to ask her that." Sam reached for his preferred Glock and checked the safety.

"I'm coming this time," Baby said with finality. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean silenced him with one shake of his head. 

________________________

The bell above the door tinkled as they entered the hardware store. The old woman looked up from the counter, her eyes narrowing as they fell on Baby's sleek black-clad form. 

"Aw shit," she muttered. "Not you again."

"You recognize him?" Sam asked, his face pulled into a mask of confusion. 

The woman nodded. "Sure do. He's the car I hexed, right?" She sighed. "Yeah, I ballsed that one up pretty good."

"So you admit it?" Dean took a step back in shock. "The killer house and the murderous bike? That was all you?"

The lady shrugged. "Eh. Everyone needs a hobby. Like hunting." She eyed them knowingly.

"Dean," Baby said under his breath, "she's not human. Not originally."

"Huh?" Dean squinted at her. "What is she then?"

"A schooner." The woman hobbled around the counter, her hands on his hips as if calming their aches. "A damn nice one too. But my captain's gone and I'm left here to man his store, watching people taking care of their things—or not, as the case may be." She frowned at Dean. "I had you pegged for a selfish ass. And maybe I'm right. But not where he's concerned, at least." She waved a hand in Baby's direction. 

"Um." Sam licked his lips and shifted on his feet. "Ma'am—"

"Melinda," she offered. "Used to be called Siren Song, but those days are long gone. It's Melinda now."

"Melinda," Sam tried again, "I hope you understand: we can't let you keep casting these hexes. People are getting hurt."

"I know, I know." The old lady grabbed hold of a display rack of keychains to maintain her balance. "Tell you the truth, I don't even know why I did it. Not like I had any reason to be angry with my lot. David was a kind man, always treated me right. And when he turned me into this," she gestured to her body, "we were happy. But he's passed away now, and I guess I started to seethe, seeing how people are with their things these days. Disposable everything. Ripe for the recycling bin." She smiled. "But not everybody, not everything. You're the exception."

"So you'll quit it with the curses?" Dean ventured. 

The old woman looked up with eyes like green sea glass. "Oh no," she said. "I think I'll quit wholesale if it's all the same to you." And she drew a large pistol from the depths of her cardigan and pointed it straight at Dean. 

Three things happened in rapid succession: Baby shouted Dean's name, Sam and Dean drew their guns, and Melinda squeezed the trigger. And sometime between one eye blink and the next, Baby was between Dean and the bullet. 

They grappled, Melinda and Baby, with the gun between them. Another shot was fired, and the old woman slid to the ground, dead, with a smile still twisted onto her face. 

"Shit, are you—?" Dean tucked his .45 at the small of his back and took one step forward, touching Baby's bent elbow. Baby turned his bright eyes on him, panting for air. 

"Dean." Baby's arm shook, and Dean flung his leather jacket wide to reveal the wound over Baby's heart, pulsing with thick blood. 

"No, no, no," Dean chanted as the other man's knees buckled and they both went down on the floor. Dean tried to support Baby's weight, but could barely manage a controlled landing, his hands cradling that dark head. "You stupid moron, what did you do that for?"

Wide blue eyes stared up at Dean, unseeing. "It hurts—Jesus—it hurts like nothing else—"

"Shut up. Don't talk. Just stay still, okay?" Dean yanked off his olive green overshirt, bunching it against the bullet hole and keeping pressure on it. "Sam! Call 911!" he barked over his shoulder. 

"No," Baby hissed. "Don't. Too late anyway."

"Quit talking already," Dean said between clenched teeth. He stared down at that pale face that was only getting paler. 

"I will. Just. Give me a sec," Baby wheezed. A fleck of blood dotted his lower lip. "When you fix me back up, Dean—"

"I said _shut your mouth_."

"—fix me just like I was before, okay?" He gasped for air, his body jerking in pain. "And. Cas. Promised." His cool, dry hand found Dean's on his chest, and he held them with a weak squeeze. "I'll always—"

Dean stared down at him and watched the light drain out of his eyes, a flicker, and then nothing.

________________________

Dean dug his heels in and kicked himself out from under the car, rolling along on his creeper board. His knuckles and forearms were caked in motor oil. The entire engine block needed work, but once he was done, Baby would be back on the road. 

He stood shakily, squinting in the bright afternoon light that filtered through the fence onto Bobby's property. A few more days and he'd be finished. 

"Sorry," he murmured, brushing the back of his hand against the driver's side door. "I'm going as fast as I can."

There was no answer, but Dean didn't expect one. Still, it was nothing new, him talking aloud to the car. Now he just had an idea of what the cocky bastard might want to say in return. A small smile tugged at his lips at the thought, just as another tug went through his chest.

"Dean?" a rough voice called out behind him.

Dean turned, not surprised to find Cas standing there in his rumpled suit and overcoat. 

"Hey," he answered, voice low. 

The angel tipped his head, watching the car and Dean with those too-intent eyes. "Sam told me what happened. I...regret that I was not there to assist you. I know this vehicle is dear to you."

"Yeah." Dean ran a hand along the warm black metal. "Lot of memories." He bit his lip and looked up at Cas. Cas returned his gaze, unwavering. 

"He'll be fine once I get this last part," Dean said.

"He?" Cas rolled the word around in his mouth. "You always referred to the car as a woman."

"Guess I was wrong." Dean took a shop rag from his pocket and mopped at the back of his neck. "Listen, Cas, you want to—?" Dean shrugged. "Want to go for a drive once he's ready?"

"Where to?" Cas asked.

"Nowhere particular. We'll just drive," Dean said.

Cas considered this for a moment, then ducked his head. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say that small curve of Cas's lips was the beginning of a real smile. 

"I would like that," he said. "Very much."

 

 

fin


End file.
